Do they say our work is done?
That we have earned our sleep?
That lifting the roof
was like lifting the sky?
That eyes followed us
to the edge of a zenith
and then leaped?
That we heard them gasp
in the ecstasy,
of winning their freedom?
Our strength was uncovered
by the shapers of stone.
Priests that found us
ready to begin.
Now eons have passed.
Rain has wept on our faces.
Wind has stroked our legs
and kissed them.
Time has pulled its blanket
over us.
The crowds peer at us quietly,
with humble awe,
knowing something belongs to them
when they see us.
Their gentleness is tribute
to our strength and courage,
and their own resolve
to protect the dreams
cherished in their lives.